An Unexpected Christmas (Willow Creek Novellas #1)

Chapter 1

Frankie

The Grinch next door

There’s something insanely satisfying about coming home to my little house covered in Christmas lights.

The chill of the night air nips at my cheeks as I step out of my car, but I secretly love that feeling.

It’s the same thrill as waking up to snow or falling in love.

Okay, I’m not saying I’m in love with my house, but…

well, I might be. I’ve spent years making this place my own.

Nothing can dampen the pure, unadulterated joy that lights me up from the inside.

The display this year is my best yet. Every inch of my little two bed is adorned with twinkling lights that shift between warm white and festive red, green, blue…

even pink, so sue me, I love a rainbow. Strands of lights outline the windows, the roofline, and even the railing of my pink porch.

It’s like Santa’s grotto exploded and decided to settle right here in Holly Creek.

And I couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t even matter that I’m dead on my feet after delivering a set of triplets today—a pre-Christmas miracle for some first-time parents.

I was there to witness it, to help bring those three beautiful lives into the world, and, as much as I love my job, this moment, coming home to this, is its own kind of magic.

My face hurts from smiling as I take it all in.

I might have gone a little crazy this year, not just with the house but with the lawn too.

A new addition graces my yard: a sleigh, glowing with a cute little red Santa, being pulled by a set of reindeer equally lit up.

It’s absolutely adorable, and it might have cost more than I’m willing to admit, but who cares?

Did I need to buy it? Absolutely not. Did I want to? Yes. And I have zero regrets. Every time I glance out my window and see that sleigh sparkling under the winter sky, it reminds me of being a kid again.

Who cares if my next few dinners consist of instant noodles? I’ll be happy, sitting by the window, gazing at my glowing masterpiece while slurping cheap ramen. That’s enough for me.

My phone rings in my pocket, the buzzing cutting through the quiet of the street.

I pull it out, squinting at the screen, and see Lainey’s name flashing.

My best friend and favorite co-worker. I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear.

“Did I forget to fill in paperwork, or do you just miss me?” I say without a hello.

She chuckles immediately, the sound warm and familiar. “You forgot to sign off the baby girl from yesterday. Little baby Noelle. So, Kathy did it instead. But I do miss you. I hate it when our shift pattern is opposite.” She pauses for a beat. “Are you home now?”

“Yes,” I say as I step onto my porch, jingling my keys in my hand. “And let me tell you, Lainey, my house looks so good right now. It’s like a Hallmark movie threw up on it, and I’m not even sorry.”

“Send me pictures. When do you leave for Boston?” she asks.

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Oh shoot.” There’s a commotion in the background. “I gotta run. Room thirteen is pressing the buzzer again. I’ll text you later.”

Before I can reply, she’s gone. The hospital is crazy busy this year, a baby boom like never before, but after tomorrow’s shift, I have six glorious days off.

I’m heading to Boston to spend the holiday with my parents. My sister lives there too, and she’s bringing my nephew, who is still so tiny and adorable. I’m planning on soaking up all the baby cuddles.

I’m just about to head inside when there’s a low, unmistakable grumble behind me.

Ah, yes. That would be my neighbor, the sexiest grumpiest man in Holly Creek, Denver: Sam Nicholas.

He’s wrapped in a long, dark wool coat that looks expensive but well-worn; the kind you’d see on someone walking through a misty English countryside.

A scarf loops haphazardly around his neck, the ends fluttering in the icy breeze.

His hair, dark and perpetually messy, looks like he’s just run his hands through it in frustration, probably because of me.

We’ve been exchanging words for the last few weeks, ever since my lights went up. It seems I inadvertently awakened the Grinch within. Before ‘light-gate’ he seemed like a quiet, pretty decent, very hot neighbor.

But now I realize he’s just a butthead who hates Christmas and fun.

His hazel eyes narrow as he takes in my house, and for a moment, I wonder if the lights are physically hurting him with the depth of his scowl. He stands there, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, bracing the chilly air.

“Do you mind?” he finally says, his voice rich and low with the kind of British accent that could make someone swoon if it wasn’t dripping with irritation.

I blink, caught off guard for a second, not by his words, but by the way the lights cast a soft glow over his sharp jawline and the angles of his cheekbones. For someone so perpetually annoyed, he’s annoyingly handsome.

“Mind what?” I ask, feigning innocence as I clasp my hands together, keys still clutched.

He gestures toward my house. “The lights. The… whatever that thing is on your lawn.”

“It’s a sleigh,” I say, smiling sweetly. “And reindeer. You know, like Santa’s.”

“Yes, I know what it is. What I don’t understand is why it has to be so… bright.” He squints as if the lights are actively burning his retinas.

“Well, it’s Christmas,” I say, shrugging. “What’s the point of decorating if it’s not a little over-the-top?”

He mutters something under his breath, and I catch the words “over-the-top” and “ridiculous.”

“Look,” I say, taking a step closer to my porch. “I get that you’re not into Christmas, but it’s only for a few weeks. Surely you can put up with it for that long?”

“I wouldn’t mind if it were a few twinkling lights,” he says. “But your house looks like the Vegas strip.”

I snort a laugh, which my mom always says is the most unattractive thing I do, but it’s warranted. I can’t help it. The image of my little house competing with neon casinos is too much. Sam, however, does not seem to find it amusing. Shocker.

“Sorry,” I say, still chuckling. “But I love it. It’s festive.”

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Festive isn’t the word I’d use.”

“What word would you use?” I challenge, folding my arms across my chest.

He hesitates, then says, “Obnoxious.”

My jaw drops, but only for a second. “It’s Christmas, Sam! You’re supposed to embrace the joy, the spirit, the—”

“The blinding lights and blaring music at all hours?” he interrupts.

I narrow my eyes. “You know, for someone who looks like he stepped out of a Hallmark movie, you’re surprisingly Grinchy.”

He frowns, his brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I wave a hand at him. “The scarf, the coat, the brooding stare. You’ve got ‘handsome holiday hero’ written all over you. Too bad you’re such a grouch.”

His expression remains unreadable. Then, without another word, he turns and disappears inside his house across the street, slamming the door behind him.

Well, okay, then. “And Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Grinch,” I shout, knowing he will have heard me. It would do him the world of good to either find someone—not me—to fuck that misery right out of him. Or just, you know, he could put up a damn tree like everyone else.

I stomp up my wooden porch steps. Who does he think he is, anyway? It’s not like I’ve asked him to pay my extortionate electric bill. All he has to do is endure my display for a few weeks. Is that really so hard?

I hesitate, looking at the lawn, doubt sneaking into my subconscious. Is it too much? Nope. It’s perfect.

I unlock the door and flip the switch to my hall lights as I walk inside, the warmth of the house thawing my frozen cheeks.

As soon as I enter the kitchen, I say, “Alexa, play Christmas Essentials playlist,” and the music blares from my stereo as the familiar strains of All I Want for Christmas Is You fill the room.

As I sing along, I catch a glimpse of Sam’s house through the window.

It’s dark; the curtains drawn tight. Such a grump.

But not me. I love Christmas, and I love annoying grumpy neighbors just as much.

“Alexa, turn the music up.”